Something to Talk About
by Kronoskingofthemonkeypeople
Summary: Owen sees the shrink. Yes, surprisingly enough I can summarize this story in just four words. V. efficient.
1. Chapter I

**Something To Talk About – Chapter I**

Fish tank.

Old couch. Bland cushions. Files. Native American pictures.

The room obviously wanted to be cosy, but it still couldn't shake the feeling of sterility and coldness that Owen identified with hospitals. He looked back at the fish. Interesting choice; maybe to entice the gaze of the clients, make them more open to other thoughts. Owen's eyes wandered until they fell again upon Dr Wyatt.

She was lying back in her chair, quiet; pen poised as she stared deep into Owen's eyes.

Owen took in a sharp breath and tapped his fingers together. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. It's not that he didn't _like_ psychiatrists; he just didn't really know how to get started. What, does he just sit there and say, "I have PTSD" and talk about himself and get cured? The furthest he'd gotten now was to say his name and how long he had and already there was an awkward silence. Was he supposed to start? Or is it just some sort of weird psychological evaluation?

Dr Wyatt's gaze sharpened and Owen straightened up his back.

"You've never been to a psychiatrist before, have you?" She raised an eyebrow, pen still poised high.

Owen fidgeted in the couch, rubbing his hands together as he forced a smile. "Not um…not really…"

Silence again.

He studied the room once more. He knew this was never going to work. Suddenly a knot appeared in his throat. _It has to work. He must make it work_. _For Cristina. _

_Cristina….._

It was impossible. Utterly impossible – he was the last person on earth who would ever hurt Cristina and yet that is what his hands did. _His_ hands. He saw the bruises. He kissed them tenderly, trying to make them disappear, but it never changed the fact that they were there because of _his_ hands.

He needed serious help.

Owen wrung his hands and opened his mouth, words promising to come out but then stopping short when he realised he had no idea what to say.

Silence again.

"I ah…" Owen put his hands on his knees. "I should go…." He quickly stood up then nodded to Dr Wyatt. "It's been um…thank you." Forcing a quick smile he opened the door and left quickly, leaving Wyatt alone, leaning back into her chair.

**0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

**NB**

**Why hello hello! So I was thinking during the 3 ridiculously long weeks until the next greys ep (what Shonda? Trying to get us prepared for the summer break?) I would have to do something to fill that little space in my head and stomach filed under "Grey's!". Fanfiction usually helps, so fanfiction it is!**

**So basically this is Owen's shrink sessions. Short as the chapter is, I think they will only get longer and maybe if I continued – they shall verge out beyond the mental ward!**

**So! If you wish to venture into the dark and twisty hotness that is Dr. Owen Hunt, and also wish to see him and Cristina reconciled – Read on! And if you want to read on; REVIEW!! Cause seriously, that is the only way to get me off my arse and start writing!**


	2. Chapter II

**Something to Talk About – Chapter II**

"Good morning Dr. Hunt. I didn't think I'd see you again."

Dr Wyatt picked up a file and turned to Owen as he walked into the room. It had been a few days after his last session with the psychiatrist, and he had wondered whether he should bother going at all. Derek had pointed out his physical ailments; his shrunken hippocampus; maybe all he needed was real medicine? Maybe just anti-depressants? But this afternoon he was walking towards the cafeteria and he had seen a glimpse of black curly hair. He stood frozen by the door, not braving to venture in, just watching her as she strolled to the table with Meredith, massaged her fingers through her thick hair, then sigh with relief as she took a deep gulp of her coffee.

A sharp pain took hold of Owen's stomach. He wanted so much to go over and sit with her, but he couldn't. He couldn't let himself be anywhere near her, lest he forget they had broken up.

He couldn't give up on psychiatry. Not now. Not when he hadn't even tried. As degrading and frustrating as it may be, Owen had to do this for her. Nothing else mattered to him anymore. Just her.

He sat down on the old couch.

"Major Owen Hunt…." Wyatt studied the file as she sat down opposite him. "Stationed in Iraq… Trauma surgeon…Honorably discharged…"

"Psychiatrist's dream." Owen forced an awkward smile.

Wyatt lowered her file and looked at him. "What made you come to me? I'm sorry if I seem presumptuous but you don't seem like the kind of man who would see a shrink willingly."

"I have trouble sleeping." Owen wrung his hands. "Figured as a surgeon that's a bad thing so I should get all the help I can get."

Wyatt studied him for a second then nodded slowly. Suddenly her demeanour relaxed and she gave a kind smile. "When did you join the army?"

"Around four years ago."

"Only four years ago? The war was pretty unpopular then."

Owen let out a wry smile. "Yeah, my mother wasn't too pleased about it. Kept asking me where the WMDs were. But she got over it pretty fast when she realised I wasn't going there for any political reasons."

"Why did you go?"

"I had a skill, you know? I could help people. Those kids there, some of them went by choice, some of them had no choice. But they were there for us. No matter what, they were there fighting for our country. Figured the least I could do was help stitch them up."

"You must have made some great friends."

Owen smiled to himself warmly. "There were some characters…"

"You still keep in touch?"

His face turned cold, his eyes flicking away. "No."

Wyatt studied him, crossing her arms around his file. "This might seem to be jumping the gun a bit, but why where you discharged?"

Owen looked at her in the eyes then looked away. "It's a long story."

"May I remind you Dr Hunt that this is a psychiatry session. You're not going to get your money's worth until you start talking."

Owen raised an eyebrow. "You're pretty forward. You like this with all your patients?"

"Only with those who prefer to cut straight to the chase."

"You're pretty good." He smiled wryly.

Wyatt smiled. "Let's just say I'm not at this hospital for the money."

"That makes two of us." Owen's eyes saddened.

At first he didn't know why he came to Seattle Grace. He had an offer from Dr. Webber but for some reason he didn't bother searching for other hospitals. He just took it as soon as he came back. He didn't even _remember_ Cristina. She had been in his thoughts every day when he went back on his tour, but when he was discharged his thoughts were suddenly consumed with his lost friends, and he didn't even think why he was taking a job of Seattle Grace. Only after did he realise it was because of her. Of course it was her.

Dr Wyatt noticed his long face. He was looking down, the lines in his forehead becoming deeper as he grasped his hands together, as if trying to tear through them. A long silence past through them as Owen continued to sit at the edge of the couch, staring at the floor in his own thoughts.

Wyatt leaned forward and looked at him gently. "Owen, why were you discharged?"

He stopped then looked up at her. Suddenly his face unclenched. "My friends…" His tried desperately to quench the burning in his eyes. "They all died."

**0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000**

**NB**

**And on that happy note we end this chapter. So, that was slightly longer than the first chapter (woot! Slightly longer!). Hopefully it's kind of intriguing, otherwise I've failed miserably. I was supposed to post this a tad earlier but you know, life and all – but trust me, I'm going to have practically no life this week so expect updates! Hopefully this comes in just the right time to fulfil you Greys needs. If not a day late. **

**But I am actually babbling. Ah…..I don't actually think I have anything else to say except get excited! And Review!! Cause excitement and reviewing are the only two things that get me writing! That's right, I don't need no brain or ideas or writing-type-thing-which-is-white-and-glows-real-pretty: I just need excitement and reviews! Mostly reviews. **


End file.
